


In Hiding

by marguerite_26



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-12
Updated: 2012-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 21:17:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marguerite_26/pseuds/marguerite_26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for prompts: Draco secretly under the table and Fabric licking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Hiding

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [](http://snegurochka-lee.livejournal.com/profile)[**snegurochka_lee**](http://snegurochka-lee.livejournal.com/) for the beta.
> 
> Originally posted June 13, 2010

The rough scrape of wood on the flagstone sent a shiver down Harry’s spine, fraying at his already shattered nerves. He watched the offending chair for another heartbeat; it remained still, mocking him in the quiet corner of the library.

Across from him, Hermione whispered to herself as she poured over a tome written in _something_ not English. Ron cursed at his quill, a gift from George who seemed to be making up for the loss of Fred by being more than twice the prankster. Harry wasn't entirely sure of the enchantment to the quill but he was certain that 'by Horse Hung Weasley' was not what Ron had intended to put on the top of his Potions essay.

Harry watched Ron scratch out the name and replace it with 'Freckled Arse Arachnophobe.' Ron shrieked and scrambled to remove it, the parchment tearing in the process and the air filled with a litany of curses. Harry sniggered and nearly forgot about the chair until he felt a touch to the inside of his knee.

His leg jumped, slamming into the table. Pain shot through his knee, enough to make his eyes water. When he looked up, Hermione and Ron were both staring back, but there was a tight squeeze to the tops of his thighs, strong fingers digging into muscle – whether it was meant to reassure or threaten, Harry wasn't certain – and his mind blanked.

"All right there, Harry?" Ron asked, twirling his quill like he could shake the charm off of it.

Harry wondered if they could hear his heart pounding. It seemed impossible that _there is a mouth, a_ bloke’s _mouth, hovering close to my crotch_ wasn't written plainly on his face.

Hermione's brow furrowed and Harry prepared for the interrogation, but her eyes darted for a second back to her book, like she was battling between concern for his sanity and her lust for Ancient Sumerian.

"Er, leg cramp?"

Hermione blinked, and Harry could tell she wanted to pry but her finger, still on the line in which she'd stopped reading, twitched. The book won out and without a word, her head bowed and she was moving her lips to sound out the words, scribbling her notes.

Ron was already elbow-deep in his rucksack, likely looking for another quill, interest in Harry’s sanity lost.

Harry exhaled and slumped in his seat. It wasn't until the hands on his thighs crept higher that he realised 'slumping' was essentially ‘granting full access to’ a revenge-driven bastard without much reason to be concerned about Harry's potential humiliation.

Harry wished they were back in the stacks. The dark corner in the Arithamancic Herbology section, with twenty years of dust coating everything, had suited them fine. He and Draco usually planned better, picking places that guaranteed privacy and enough time to get off. Not that they ever needed much, too full of hormones and anger to take things slow. But Draco had pulled him by the collar, winding though the labyrinth that only Mme Pince ever understood. It'd been fast and brutal as always, insults spilling with every breath, biting at each other’s mouths, and hands down each other’s pants. Then Hermione's voice had flitted through the air and they'd frozen. She was several aisles away, but each call of, "Harry?" felt like it was whispered at the back of Harry's neck.

Instinct had taken over. Harry had shoved hard, knocking Draco backwards. The hurt on Draco’s face had lasted only a second before his pale face turned a blotchy red. Harry didn't stop to think; he hadn't the time. He raised his zip with a wince, shoved his invisibility cloak at Draco, and watched those kiss-swollen lips harden into something ugly.

"You're a fucking arse," Draco had hissed before slipping under the cloak as Hermione turned the corner.

Harry rejoined her at their table, reluctantly opened his books, and had just calmed his erection when he'd seen the chair move. His cock was again pushing urgently against his zip, and the hand easing its way up his leg was making it throb for attention. His Transfiguration essay sat half finished in front of him, the book on water-based morphing open to a random page. A picture of a squid half-transformed into gillyweed stared back at him.

He picked up his quill and cleared his throat. He re-read the last sentence of his essay. Then read it again. Fingers inched along his taut muscle, making his eye twitch. God, he hated Malfoy. Hated how damn hard he got every time.

It had been like that since the first time, when he'd tackled Malfoy in the seventh floor hallway weeks ago. They'd been dancing about each other since September, constantly aware of each other, never exchanging more than odd glances and the occasional sneer. Eighth year was hard on both of them for very different reasons, Harry supposed – but some of the same, too. And when he'd found Malfoy smashing his fist at a door that refused to appear, his choked cry of, "Open up, you bastard," ringing through the empty hall, Harry had lunged.

They had rolled around for a bit, tossing punches, screaming their throats raw and giving each other what they needed – a target for all that anger. Then someone shifted and they just _fit_ , hard cocks pressed tight between their bodies. Nothing had been the same after that. Riding the blurry line of pleasure and pain, regret and absolution together was so much more satisfying than simply beating each other to a pulp.

He’d tried to tell his friends, a dozen times over he’d opened his mouth intent on admiting it all: that he was gay, that it was Malfoy that did it for him, that when they were together his skin stopped feeling too tight and the world stopped making his chest ache. But the words always caught in his throat and he never knew how to begin. So he’d snap his jaw shut and let the guilt curl in his belly as he thought of his next excuse to tell Draco.

And now Draco was getting a little payback, it seemed.

Draco's hands inched closer to his crotch and Harry tightened his grip on his quill, concentrating on keeping his breathing even. The violent scratching of Hermione's note-taking gnawed at his control. Then Draco's thumbs pressed against his sack, rolling his balls in none-too-gentle circles that were just the right side of painful.

His breath hitched; his eyes flickered between Ron and Hermione, but they hadn't noticed. Yet.

Harry slid further in his seat, cheeks burning at the humiliation of urging Malfoy on when he should just stand up and walk out. Malfoy's thumbs travelled along his seam, applying pressure at all the right points. His body seemed to remember that he'd been at the edge of orgasm not twenty minutes prior and all the unspent lust came rushing back to him. Harry's hips tilted to meet the touch, the muscles of his legs quivering as he begged for more.

"—and you are not even listening, are you Harry?"

"Wha—" He blinked up at Hermione, who tutted with a familiar disapproval at Harry's lack of concentration.

"You're all red."

Harry turned to Ron. Draco's fingers didn't stop for a second to let Harry's mind catch up with his mouth. "It's hot in here," he stammered.

"Are you mental? It's bloody freezing.”

"You should go see Mme Pomfrey, Harry. You’re really flushed."

"I –" He could feel a chuckle vibrate against his inner thigh. "I will, as soon as –" His bloody zipper lowered. "As soon as I'm done here."

His trousers were being tugged open. They were loose and low slung, _easy access_ – Draco had said earlier. Harry felt the cool air hit his thin briefs, his dick pushing at the seam of the ‘y’. Harry ducked his head and pulled his essay under his nose, but the words blurred. Hot breath dampened his pants, and Harry’s pulse thundered in his ears. His mind flashed to the image of Draco, on his knees, cramped under the table, mouthing him through the plain cotton briefs Mrs Weasley had bought him last summer. He wondered if he could come from this, the heat and wet of Draco's breath, without any real contact at all. It was excruciatingly perfect and only just shy of what he needed.

Then Draco tongued the fabric of his pants, a slight pressure at the tip, licking him in muted flicks as though they were skin on skin. His pants soaked through in no time. Draco paused just long enough to swallow and wet his mouth before continuing. Harry wondered what it was like – the taste of wet cotton, the hint of salty pre-come that must have leaked through, the rough feel on Draco's tongue, rubbing raw on the fabric.

Harry whimpered at the tease; he wanted the slick feel of Draco’s tongue, the tight ring of his lips. This was too soft, too removed. He didn't look up to see if his friends were looking at him wondering at the noise. He was beyond caring. Nothing mattered but Draco's mouth on his cock.

And he was positive Draco knew it.

Draco's lips tightened around his cock, drawing him in, briefs and all, and Draco sucked, the sodden material closing tight around his cock, squeezing the head until the world finally exploded.

Something snapped. Oddly, his fingers coated with wet, and somewhere in Harry's brain he knew that made no sense at all. He squeezed his eyes tight, focusing on not making a sound as his body shuddered through his orgasm. His cheeks burned, knowing he hadn’t been quiet enough. A drip of sweat slid down his temple and he wiped it with his forearm before slowly raising his eyes.

Two sets of eyes stared back at him with matching concerned looks.

"Mate, you broke your quill."

He looked down and groaned. His fingers were black, his ink well tipped and his Transfiguration essay was ruined, and two bits of quill snapped cleanly in half were still in his hand.

It was now that Malfoy should make a sound, declare his presence and all that would imply. It was the Slytherin thing to do, wasn’t it? Use a person’s weakness against them, wait for the opportune time to strike for maximum damage. He could feel Draco's cheek pressed against his inner thigh, the warmth of his body between his knees, waiting quietly while Harry lied to his friends.

Something tightened in Harry's chest as the seconds ticked by and Draco knelt in silence.

"There's something you two should know," Harry began.

~fin

**Author's Note:**

> [Original livejournal post](http://marguerite-26.livejournal.com/394920.html)


End file.
